Memories in the Dark
by Larry the Cucumber
Summary: Mary Alice Brandon is no ordinary girl and because of it, she is condemned to spend the rest of her life in an asylum. Horrible, isn't it? Of course, it is! Well...that is until a mysterious new attendant with peculiar red eyes arrives... Alice x Jasper
1. Prologue

Prologue

_Year: 1913_

_A scene flashed across my vision very suddenly. The first thing I noticed in it was a large, grey, gloomy building. The surrounding courtyard was almost completely deserted and it seemed as though the place had not seen the sun in ages. It was probably the saddest place I had ever seen at the time—although that wasn't really saying much as I was only six and a half years old. Still, I did feel really bad for the person who lived there…_

_**0 0 0 0**_

"Mary-Alice, sweetie, can you hear me? Mary-Alice? Alice!?"

The ominous building disappeared—replaced by my mother's anxious face. She was quickly waving her hands in front of my face as she was calling out to me. Oops. I must have worried her again.

"Mama?"

"Yes? Are you alright?" Annette Brandon's brow was still furrowed a little with stress as suspicion started to creep into her eyes.

"Mama, I saw a scary place. It was big and—"

"I know dear, you saw something again. You 'see' so many things, dear, but really, what is this all about? Do you need attention? Is that it?"

"No! I do not need attention! I really saw a building. I did. I promise."

She sighed in exasperation—her usual response to my "pretending"; Mama never believed me….but she _was_ starting to worry and I didn't like that.

My strange behavior was routine in the Brandon household and it was tiring her out. It was only me, the eldest daughter, who had had these visions but I'd been having them for awhile now. What if they never stopped coming to me? _I_ wouldn't really mind…but Mama would. She'd probably be really embarrassed. Come to think of it, when people came over to our house, she would quickly introduce me and then hide me in another room for the remaining time they spent here. I never knew why, but now that I thought about it…it was almost kind of…annoying. I scrunched up my nose, forgetting about everything else for a minute.

Mama opened her mouth as if she was about to say something when we both heard my three-year-old sister crying from the next room.

"Mary-Alice," —my mother liked to use a combination of my first and middle names as I didn't really like my first name at all; 'Mary' was just too common—"Can you find a way to occupy yourself for a minute?" she asked apologetically looking once at her first-borne and then turning towards the door.

I nodded even though she already had her back to me.

I decided to resume what I was going to do before I saw the big, scary building. What was I doing again? Oh, right: I was on my way to the living room. I skipped over into the little cozy room where my family spent most nights together after dinner and over to a little electric box that was sitting perfectly within reach on the fireplace mantle. Actually I had to climb over daddy's red arm chair to reach it, but that was my little secret. I reached up to turn the little dial on the radio and it suddenly came alive with an argument between two angry men, but this wasn't what I was looking for. I slowly turned the bigger of the other two shiny knobs. Who wanted to listen to the news, after all? I only did with the rest of my family when Papa came home. I turned the dial until I found a station that was playing a catchy tune. Music swept through the room—the house, even and what's more was that it swept through me as I started dancing to my own rhythm. I really did like the radio, after all. I hummed along with it for a few minutes, jumping and swaying and turning, sometimes tripping…

I heard the door open and close and my attention refocused on something entirely different: Papa was home! I couldn't help being excited. After all, I was my daddy's big girl. I crept over to the door and peeked out into the hallway, ready to run up and give him a big "welcome-home" hug or surprise him from behind, should his back be to me. Mama had gotten there first, though, and was already in the middle of a conversation with him. I couldn't exactly interrupt.

I knew it wasn't right to eavesdrop—especially not on your parents—but my curiosity mixed with my mischievous side had already won over the morality battle.

It seemed as if they were trying to keep their voices low, even with the music playing in the living room, but I could still make out what they were saying pretty easily as their "hushed voices" were more like stage whispers.

"I just don't know what to do. We both thought it was just a phase she was going through but I am honestly starting to believe that she thinks that she's seeing things."

Were they talking about me? I listened more intently and felt something…open inside of me. It was like a door to some other part of my brain and the harder I listened, the wider it opened.

"Calm down, Anne," he said reasonably, "She's just a little kid. Kids like to play around sometimes and you know how mischievous Alice can be. You know, two weeks ago I caught her listening to one of those horror stations on the radio way past her bed time." He chuckled quietly. "Bold, too, for a young girl."

"_Mary_-Alice does not look like she's fooling around, though. I think I've been noticing these episodes happening more often nowadays, too. Do you know what else is weird? Whenever I start to consider that maybe we should get her some help, it happens again! It's almost as if she's trying to make up my mind for me! But how could she know?! All I'm saying is that I think maybe she's—"

_**0 0 0 0**_

_Old, widowed, Mr. Jones had just decided to go get a glass of water downstairs. He was hobbling down the stairs of his two-story home with a candle in his hand, when he stumbled on one of the steps and fell the rest of the way down, finally landing at the foot of the steps thoroughly unable to move. Unfortunately the candle had also fallen, but instead of being extinguished upon hitting the floor, the flame immediately touched the banister which caught on fire. In a few minutes the house would be history and poor Mr. Jones…_

_**0 0 0 0**_

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! Somebody help him! It's on fire! We need to go help him!" I realized I was screaming but somehow, I couldn't stop. I kind of realized that this wasn't exactly the best time to be displaying my vision but someone's _life_ was in jeopardy. I couldn't help it: I started crying.

Before I knew it, my mother was kneeling down beside me, pulling me towards her and then patting my head, comforting me, cooing, "Shhh. Shhh….it's alright. It's alright." I hid my 

face in Mama's shoulder. She held on to me tighter but grew silent. The only noises left in the entire house were my muffled sobs.


	2. Chapter 1: Unnatural

Chapter 1

I awoke with a start and let my eyes adjust to darkness around me. It was a dream that had woken me up—or maybe it was a nightmare…I couldn't decide which it was, really…but, I would let myself become fully aware of my surroundings before I could consider it. Why not kill any time that I could? I wasn't in any hurry.

I paused to look around my "room." I was sitting up on my miniature straw mattress in the corner of the little cell. Next to it sat a small wooden crate that was supposed to serve as a bed-side table—I liked to think of it as my personal wardrobe; it was where I hid a single spare uniform. On the far side of the room, right beside the door, hung an unlit lantern that was used whenever an attendant needed to see me for one reason or another. The little bit of light that crept into the room came from the crack under the door that lead out into the hallways of Ward 036. Ironically, the darkest part of my chamber was the most modern part—it had indoor plumbing. There was a little bathroom-stall-like walled off section of the room for necessity. These things all soon came into focus as the cobwebs cleared out of my head.

I tried to remember last night. I had dreamt about _something_ but I couldn't be sure as to what that something was. It was the kind of dream that upon waking left me with an unsettling sort of feeling. Although this morning, it was particularly frustrating because I could not figure out what the dream was about. All I could sort out from the whole mess was that today was not going to be a normal day. It wasn't that my visions had told me that; it was that annoying feeling that I woke up with. If any of these thoughts had been running through any other girl's mind—any other _normal _girl's mind, she would have been called paranoid. I however, was different andI had learned to trust myself awhile ago—I was almost always right.

_**0 0 0 0**_

_There was an old, important-looking man in a grey suit—the superintendant probably—shaking hands with a what looked like a newly-hired young man in a clean white coat. I could only see the new-comers back but even from this angle he looked impressive. He was tall and thin—but not in a girly way—more lean, really and noticeably chalky, too. There was also a strange, almost overwhelming, aura about him that surrounded every inch of him—from the very tips of his toes to the top of his blond head. The superintendant may have also noticed this as he was trying to suppress a look of mixed curiosity and alarm directed at his new employee._

"_Thank you, sir. I will be sure to follow your instructions," the strange, young man said in a silky smooth voice as he was about to turn and leave._

"_Hold on, Mr. Whitlock, I'm sorry I'm afraid I must ask—" _

_Before the words were out of his mouth, the already eerie atmosphere became down-right chilling._

"_Yes?" the young man—Whitlock—asked courteously, pausing to address his employer._

"_I…uhh…… that is…ummm……..well……you see…….errr………you—ah…." The superintendent was obviously floundering as the atmosphere gradually grew more intense. "Good luck with your first day," he finally squeaked._

_Immediately the room felt more peaceful. Whitlock—turned slightly, just so I could see part of his face. I could immediately see another reason for the superintendent's alarm in his mischievous, red eyes. "Thank you, sir," he replied. And with that, he smiled—his expression remaining oddly cold, as he walked out. _

_**0 0 0 0**_

Back in reality and in a room that suddenly seemed a little too dark, I shivered.


	3. Chapter 2: Surprise

Chapter 2

What had just happened?—It was probably more accurate to ask, 'What had I just seen?' That had to have been the most mysterious vision I had ever had.

Did this newcomer have anything to do with the uneasiness I was feeling? But that feeling was usually reserved as a warning for change. The only explanation I could think of at the moment—for lack of creativity probably—was that I may be getting a new attendant. If that was the case, however, it wasn't particularly rare. It was true that Whitlock seemed very unusual to say the least and exceedingly frightening. At least he _did _seem interesting. So…maybe that's what made his decision to work here significant? Or maybe he had nothing to do with my uneasiness at all.

Then, that left the question as to who he was. He _could_ be an albino—which would easily explain his chalky pallor and strange red eyes, but didn't even begin to account for that bizarre atmosphere. Aside from this, why couldn't I see Whitlock's face until the end? He was clearly the focus of what I had seen, yet it seemed the superintendant had been at center stage the entire time. His face was in full view throughout the entire thing. Putting it all together, I was surprised that any mental institution would take Whitlock in as an employee rather than as an inmate. After all, people were thrown in here for the weirdest reasons: disobedience, bad attitudes, mood swings; or being mute, dirt-poor, mentally retarded, etcetera, etcetera.

Ugh!! This was just so, so, so, so, so frustrating!! Usually, my visions kept me from true insanity during my time in solitary confinement. Now, they were definitely driving me crazy. I felt like I needed a good distraction. Unfortunately, those weren't exactly in high suppl—

_**0 0 0 0**_

_The regular attendant for Ward 036 was hurrying down the dimly lit hallway outside of my room, holding a pad of paper with a list of the rooms located in my wing of the building. He was checking off room 655 as he was walking. Finally, he stopped just outside of room 656—my room—and didn't hesitate before barging in. It's not like he expected to surprise me, I suppose, or maybe he really just did not care._

_**0 0 0 0**_

I felt my mouth curve into a rare smile. I guess my Sight wasn't going to drive me crazy. I'd had an idea—sure, it wasn't a great idea, and it could get me into some sort of trouble or another, but if he was 

leaving soon anyways……. And I really needed just that little bit of excitement of pulling a prank. I should think it'd be obvious by now: I didn't get out much.

I stood up and stretched once more before making my way over to the door. I pressed my ear over the wood and waited for the sounds of footsteps. There wouldn't be any false alarms; no one came near here unless they had some business with at least one of the patients.

I knew I could be waiting for an hour or more but it wasn't like I had anything else to do. Luckily, I didn't have to wait long, though. After about five minutes, I heard his shoes slap against the flooring.

I then placed myself in front of the door, just so that it wouldn't hit me upon swinging open and put on the most evil-crazy-insane-monster expression as he opened the door.

"AAAAAAAAHHHHH!!" he shrieked. _Slam._

Another minute passed in silence before he tried coming in again. This time, he pushed it open slowly and then poked his head into the room—only halfway composed. This time, I made sure that I was sitting on my little straw mattress, looking completely angelic and innocent, although slightly confused—as if I was wondering what was wrong with my attendant.

"Ahem," he started, slightly flustered, "I am here to perform a regular checkup on your mental state—" he broke off and mumbled something under his breath—" I am sorry to inform you that I am being transferred to a different institution and will no longer be taking care of you…"

He said all of this as if he was taking to an idiot or a little kid, but I'd learned not to let that bother me; everyone was like that here.

After the protocol check-up, the attendant hurried out of the room, only pausing right outside of the doorway for no reason I could see, before pulling the door closed.

I couldn't help it; I giggled. It wasn't often that I got to have any fun. Sometimes, I was allowed to "go for a walk" but that was never the same and I had to be accompanied by a staff member at all times—it was not the same. It was even more uncommon for me to have a reason to giggle—the realization of which only made those giggles escalate into full-blown laughter. I buried my face in my hands and pictured the look on my attendants face—

A strange atmosphere crept into the room and instantaneously cut off my lightheartedness as I recalled the reason a distraction was needed in the first place. Slowly, I lifted my eyes to meet those of Mr. Whitlock.


	4. Chapter 3: The Gears of Fate

Chapter 3

I only realized how briefly I had seen his face in my vision when I found myself staring at it now. Mr. Whitlock was definitely the most beautiful person I had ever seen—his features were impossibly flawless. Of course, this only made him twice as frightening.

While I was taking this in, several emotions crossed his face, seemingly all at once; his expression changed from amused with a sense of superiority, to curious, then to confused, before going back to curious—where it stayed—and mixed with that same amused expression that he first had had on.

A wave of tranquility hit me and I realized that I had been panicking, almost to the point of hyperventilating. It didn't make sense, though. I _felt _calmer—physically, but I knew that somewhere, deep down, I was even more terrified of Whitlock. Seeing him in person only made me realize that there was something about him that screamed out 'danger'…but maybe I was just being paranoid? What was the worst that could happen? If he was going to be working here, I was his responsibility now, after all…right?

He paused and then cocked his head to one side as if waiting for me to do or say something. When I didn't after another minute he suddenly became almost…friendly.

"Hello, there, m'am. You seemed to be quite a bit of fun. I didn't mean to interrupt you. I was only curious. . ." Whitlock actually did look genuinely curious. He waited again for me to say something. Why did he expect me to say something? Why was he even here? How did he get in and why hadn't I had any warning?

"You can relax. I won't hurt you," he continued in a soothing, soft voice.

The strange peacefulness washed over me again, but I tried to ignore it. I smelled a rat—and this time I did not mean that literally. I would trust my instincts—I was always right—and they definitely told me not to trust him. Therefore, when Mr. Whitlock waited for me to respond, I said absolutely nothing. It wasn't like I had nothing to say—more like the opposite: I had a too many questions running through my mind; I was entirely mystified and slightly confused. To top it off I felt the need to be cautious.

I must've looked skeptical because he seemed to give up on the charade. His expression reverted back to what it had been before, except now it was highlighted with a new emotion—regret? Guilt? The sense of superiority was also gone and he was now looking no longer at me but at the far corner of the room. "You're a smart girl," he said quietly.

Chills ran down my spine. That did it.

"Who _are_ you, anyway?!" I blurted out. Abruptly, Whitlock's head twisted in my direction and he was looking straight at me, surprised. Somehow, I couldn't stop talking even though I probably should have.

"Why are you even here?! What is wrong with you?! Why are you so creepy?!"

"I see, so, you're not a mute, then." He smiled, amused again—his mood apparently recovered. "I'll make you a deal: I'll answer those questions for you if you answer them for me."

"Why do you care so much?"

"I wasn't lying before, I _am_ curious. You seem unusual and it throws me off. I feel like I need an explanation for it." He thought _he _needed the explanation.

"You're working at an asylum. Everyone you're going to meet is going to be unusual here."

"That's not what I meant…," Whitlock paused. "…by the way, do you realize that the time is currently within visiting hours."

"So…?"

"Why did you assume that I'm here as an employee when I'm clearly not in a uniform."

I looked down at what he was wearing. Okay, he most definitely was not in uniform, but he should've been—whether he worked here or not. He was wearing a dirty, stained, light grey jacket with some slightly beat-up, brown corduroy pants. Hopefully this wasn't some new style that _everyone_ was wearing now-a-days. How would I know, though? The only people I saw were inmates or staff members—in uniform—or some big-shot in a suit. Even in my visions, I never really saw any normally dressed people anymore.

"Aside from that," he continued—I looked back up at his face; I was going to pay attention—"I must also seem to be unusually inquisitive to you. Wouldn't that lead you to think that I'm an unexpected visitor?"

I paused, but only for a second. I'd dealt with this kind of situation, although only once or twice. I had decided to play it safe then, too—I couldn't tell him about my vision; ordinary people did not react well to my hallucinations, not here in any case. To top it off, it would be reported and no evidence that I gave them of further mental instability ever meant anything good. Enough evidence could even lead to the shock treatments.

"Oh!" I feigned surprise and my eyes widened with practiced innocence. "Are you a visitor? Sorry, my mistake. I guess I just don't get too many of those."

I was personally satisfied with my acting abilities. It had been enough to convince the other employees of other things—that I was sick, that I hadn't eaten lunch on a particular day, etcetera. Apparently I wasn't as good at fooling people as I had thought I was; Whitlock was looking at me skeptically. He frowned as if concentrating on something.

At that moment, I felt something click. It was more like the ominous feeling this morning in that it seemed to exist in the strange awareness that I had for the future. The difference was that this "click" was instantaneous and only lasted a second, but left me feeling that things had changed drastically somehow. The closest thing I could compare it to would be a light switch being turned on in a previously dark room. Unfortunately, this only left more questions unanswered, like "_What had happened?_" and "_What does this mean?_" or "_What's changed?_"

I waited for a vision to come to me but nothing did. I didn't "See" anything. I _did_ have a theory, though: someone or some_thing_ had shifted gears of fate.


	5. Chapter 4: Human Again

Chapter 4

"What is your name?"

Whitlock's voice broke through my reverie.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked you for your name…?"

"I thought you were here as my visitor. Shouldn't you already know my name?" I asked sarcastically.

"Actually, I start working here tomorrow. I'm only here today to 'learn the ropes.'" He smiled at some inside joke. Geeze! This guy irritated me!

As much as I really didn't want to give a creepy stranger my name, I didn't think I had much of a choice. If I didn't tell him, I wouldn't put it past him to ask a supervisor or even the superintendant about me. Now, that would be bad—I did _not_ want any unnecessary attention drawn to my file. Maybe the head of the facility would decide that my case was too severe to be ignored or that I'd been in this place for too long and then….I felt a shiver go down my spine. I would definitely rather just tell him my name than take the chance. It was no big deal; it wasn't really a secret and not knowing my name wouldn't hinder him in finding my file—he could just look at my room number. I sighed, giving up.

"My name is Mary Alice Brandon, number 0360725. I've been stuck in this hell-hole for approximately 11 years and 4 months," I droned, like some kind of machine from those science-fiction radio shows. Hopefully that information would be enough.

"Well, Mary—," he said. I grimaced. I couldn't help it; "Mary" sounded horrible.—"What's wrong?"

I hesitated. He was actually calling me by a name—not a number. I felt kind of bad complaining… I shook my head out. I had to remember who I was talking to.

"I don't particularly like my first name," I answered using the same monotone as before.

"What would you prefer, then?" he asked, suddenly the gentleman.

Was he really planning on calling me by name? Moreover, did he actually care if what he called me offended me? Apparently. And he called me unusual.

Well…it _had _been awhile since anyone had called me by my favorite nickname……and I _did_ miss it.

"Alice," I murmured in reply. "Call me Alice."

"Alice..." he said, testing it out.

It had been so long since anyone from the "outside" had ever called me that. It made me feel like a human being again rather than just some stupid animal. As much as I hated to admit it, this was kind of….nice. I guess I could get used to it…

"It's nice to meet you, Alice. My name is Jasper Whitlock," he said.

"Err…I guess it's sort of nice to meet you, too, Whit—Mr. Whitlock."

"You know, you can—" an expression of annoyance abruptly crossed his previously friendly face. "Hold on," he said, and with that, he was out in the hallway before I could blink.

--

Note:

Okay, so now, just in case anyone hasn't guessed by now, this guy is obviously the Jasper we all know and love (or is he?). I've gotten some anonymous reviews bringing up some very good points concerning this matter:

-How is Jasper still alive? I thought James killed him…

-Wouldn't James remember Jasper, too?

-How could Alice and Jasper possibly forget each other and meet up later in the diner?!

-How can Alice see vampires in her visions? She's still human after all…

In response, all I have to say is: patience. All will be revealed by the end of this fan-fiction (except maybe the last question. I _do_ have an answer to it, however I'm not sure how I'm going to incorporate that into the story as of right now.) No worries, I have thought this all out. Thanks for bringing that up, though. Any review will help make the story better (the good, bad, and the ugly—thanks for the quote, Clare.)

Adios, amigos!

Larry


	6. Chapter 5: The Shadow

Chapter 5

Although he had told me to "hold on," about a minute after Jasper Whitlock had left, he stuck his head back into my cell only to say that he was leaving—not that it bothered me at all.

"You'll have to excuse me," he said, smirking—almost like he was teasing me. Just who did he think he was, anyway? "I'll see you tomorrow, Alice. Duty calls."

Okay, maybe I could get used to being called by name, again, but even if these visits were going to be more regular, I wasn't sure I could ever get used to _him_. Maybe that was a good thing, though. It would make my day just that much less boring and repetitive.

Regardless, those two words perfectly described the rest of my day. I just wracked my brain for the answers to the same questions that had come up today over and over and came up with nothing. Eventually, my old attendant brought me some kind of porridge-like-meal, probably for the last time except for dinner. I could immediately see the difference between him and Whitlock; he treated me like my "mental illness" was deadly and contagious.

After eating, all I really did was sit around and become more and more frustrated. Unfortunately, this time, a distraction wasn't going to land nicely in my lap. That was why, after my evening stew had been brought and eaten, I decided to go right to bed. I was sick of today already and the sad part was that today had probably been the most interesting day I'd had in years. I felt like I was getting a head-ache anyways; sleep would probably be the best thing for it.

_**0 0 0 0**_

_I was in a dark room much like my own. The most notable difference was that the room was flipped—like a reflection of my room in a mirror. I must've been looking into a room from a different ward. The wooden crate, that I normally used as storage space, was also splintered and slightly smashed with what looked like a few blood stains on it. Upon first glance, the room seemed unoccupied, but I heard a sob coming from the corner of the room, furthest away from the door. There, curled up into a little ball, was a wild-looking person—Boy? Girl? I wasn't _

_really sure—with a tear streaked face. I also noticed that the poor creature's knuckles were all bloody. He or she must've been the cause of the damage done to the crate. _

_What happened next seemed to be in slow motion—although I was sure it all took place in less than three seconds. A bright light seemed to illuminate the room as the door sprung open, seemingly on its own, and then immediately closed. For the first time, I noticed a dark shadow across the room from the cell's true inhabitant. I could understand why I must've missed it, too; it blended in so well with the darkness, I could hardly see where its shape began and where it ended._

_There was a flicker of movement and a small snapping noise. Then, I could no longer see the person in the corner as the shadow moved in front of it. A few minutes passed like this, a dark fluid—a trickle at first—flowing onto the cement flooring. Even while I was halfway unconscious, I felt sick to my stomach with terror as I realized what was going on. Was there a serial-killer loose in the hospital or had one of the inmates really gone off the deep end this time? _

_**0 0 0 0**_

My eyes snapped open as I was laying face-down on my straw mattress. My heart hammered against my ribs, making my chest hurt.

I promptly rolled over, sat up and raked my eyes across the room. It was just as I'd left it before going to sleep. The dirty dinner tray and bowl were even there, just to the right of the door where one of my attendants should have already picked it up. It didn't really matter, though. I had only been worried about the nightmare—sometimes my dreams actually turned out to be a more advanced version of my visions. Tonight's dream seemed pretty ridiculous, though, when I could see that my little prison was obviously safe. I sighed with relief and rolled back over onto my belly.

I wondered what kind of anxiety had brought this one on and then shrugged it off. I'd been wondering a lot lately—too much.

"It was just a dream…just a dream…just a dream…" I quietly chanted to myself, trying to get back to sleep.


	7. Chapter 6: Once Again

Chapter 6

I woke up to another routine day, still feeling slightly wary because of last night's nightmare. I hadn't really dreamed about anything when I went back to sleep after that but somehow I couldn't get the shadow out of my head. It haunted me, but that didn't make sense. I pushed the stupid paranoia out of my mind and decided to change into my spare uniform and use the tiny sink in the bathroom stall to wash up.

This made me unusual among the inmates, I guess. "Why bother" was the kind of attitude everyone else had. This routine helped keep me partially sane, though. After eleven years in here, anyone would go insane if not already mentally ill. This was just one of the ways I could keep my mind and my personality. Another way was through my visions—my windows to the world beyond my prison.

Over the years I had found a way to open myself up to my visions so that even the most unimportant things could appear before me. This was my main form of entertainment. At least it was better than watching a film—my visions were in color in addition to sound.

Therefore, this is what I did while waiting for an assistant—that is, one of the attendant's assistants—to bring breakfast. I centered myself and waited a few minutes. At first, the only thing I saw was a series of strange, unclear flashes: a dark shape, a foggy mirror, a little girl skipping, a bowl of grits…

_**0 0 0 0**_

_I was in an outside recreational area—it must've been a Wednesday, the only day inmates are allowed outdoors and even then, only if it was their turn. The little, private space was mainly browning grass with scattered trees and benches located around the space. Brown and yellow leaves also littered the ground. _

_Although the recreational park made especially for inmates normally looked very dreary, I saw myself sitting on a bench on a particularly nice day—which wasn't very common for the middle of autumn. What a lucky break!_

_**0 0 0 0**_

The vision ended, but I kept myself open. There could always be more good news—not that I could afford to take anything for granted.

_**0 0 0 0**_

_A large, white truck was pulling in to the driveway before _St. Agatha's Home for the Mentally Ill_. Behind the truck was a shiny, black Rolls Royce. Apparently, someone here wasn't in short supply of money…_

_Both cars came to a halt, just outside the side entrance to the asylum. A man with a black outfit and a little cap came out of the driver's side of the Rolls Royce to help a woman out of the passenger side. She was very pretty, but not quite beautiful. She wore her blond hair in a finger-waved bob with a bejeweled comb in the front. As for her dress, she had a green, pencil-cut style on with tons of fringes coming off of it everywhere. _

_So that's what the style was…it was much better than what Whitlock had on yesterday at least. _

_The woman strutted up to one of the men in the white truck as he was getting out and handed him a bill._

_"You never saw him and you never saw me, either. In fact, to your knowledge, Grant O'Donald was never admitted to this hospital. Got it?" She said this as the other man in the truck went around to the back of his vehicle and brought out an unconscious boy—he had to be around twelve or thirteen years old—with a goofy looking smile on his face. _

_Poor kid. He probably had absolutely no idea of what kind of future he was in for. I couldn't help but feel bad for him._

_The snobby, unpleasant, rich woman went back around to pay the other asylum employee to keep his mouth shut. I wish I could slap her._

_**0 0 0 0**_

Geez. Who did she think she was?! At least maybe I wou—

"Well….that was certainly…..interesting….." a familiar voice commented.

No way. If there was something that would've affected me, I would have definitely seen that instead of the snob. So then, it _should_ be impossible for anyone to sneak up on me—especially when I'm having a vision. Furthermore, I really should've noticed the weird aura that he gave off yesterday. Yet when I looked up, leaning against the door was Jasper Whitlock, holding my breakfast tray.


	8. Chapter 7: Seeing Red

Chapter 7

I froze. Whitlock didn't see, did he? I only noticed him about five seconds after the vision ended. Maybe that was when he came in. But, then, if that was the case, what was so "interesting"? If he did see, what was I going to say? No one had ever caught me in the middle of a vision before. This brought me to another point; the first time he'd appeared without a warning from my special Sight was a surprise, but the second time, it was unsettling. Was this going to be a regular occurrence?

I just sat there, frozen for a minute or two, trying to figure out how to approach this problem—should I fess up or play innocent or something else entirely?

"Are you giving me the silent treatment again, Alice?"

"Ahhh……Uhmmmm…." I looked up at him. He'd set my breakfast down on my little wooden crate and was leaning comfortably against the wall. All the while, the weird aura was seeping back into the room. Even so, he didn't _look_ like the type of person who would report me, did he? Maybe I should just act natural…forgetting his scariness for the time-being. "No, I'm just…surprised that you're here. Wasn't one of your assistants supposed to bring me breakfast? Or were you hired as an assistant?"

It just occurred to me now that Whitlock could have been hired as an Assistant Attendant while one of the previous assistants replaced the head attendant for the ward. Come to think of it, this explanation _did_ make more sense.

"Didn't you know? The Attendant also helps bring breakfast to the inmates; he just has more to do than the assistants so he would usually only bring breakfast to one or two of the inmates." He smiled, "Rather disappointing, Alice. You've been here eleven years, now, isn't that right? Surely, you should know all about this place by now."

I grimaced. Well how was I supposed to know? None of my previous Attendants had ever bothered with me—they'd never bothered with any of the inmates. They probably just delivered to whichever room was closest to their office. Then why…?

"Why would you go out of your way to bring _me_ food? I'm sure this isn't just because my room was closest."

"I thought I was pretty clear yesterday. You are an intriguing little girl. I can't quite understand you."

_Little_. I knew that physically I was petite and I was only around sixteen or so but I couldn't be that much younger than him. Whitlock only looked to be around his late teens—maybe his early twenties, but I doubted it.

That aside, I didn't quite see what was so fascinating about me—well…I wasn't going to count what he'd just seen when he walked into the room a minute ago. Not only did that have the potential for being fascinating, but it actually was, too.

"Thank you…I think…"

"You're welcome." He grinned, amused.

I shivered; his eyes still scared me, especially when he smiled like that. Just thinking that, I felt bad though. It wasn't like he could help it after all.

I picked up my bowl of grits and spoon on the wooden crate and was about to take a bite when I realized something. His eyes weren't quite as red yesterday, were they? Today, they seemed brighter and—I glanced up at him just to make sure—his face seemed different overall…like it was….healthier? That didn't make sense, though.

"Is there something wrong?" he asked.

I looked back up at his face again and really studied it for a second before answering. This time, I noted the bags beneath his eyes.

Why did this matter so much? Did I reeeeaaaaalllly need to bring this up? Well….when I was honest with myself…yes, I did. This whole situation was just irritating me.

"Did you get enough sleep last night?" I asked.


	9. Chapter 8: Déjà vu

Chapter 8

Surprise flickered across Whitlock's face. He opened his mouth to say something and then hesitated. His eyes narrowed and for a second, I could have sworn that my blood ran cold in my veins; he looked a little angry.

"Why do you ask?" he inquired with an air of nonchalance

What was wrong with him? Whatever it was, I decided that at this moment, honesty was the best policy. I was a little afraid of avoiding the question or lying at the moment…

"Maybe this only applies to the whites of your eyes, but they—they seem to be…a slightly brighter shade of red. And—and you also have bags under your eyes so…."

I tried to say this boldly and fearlessly, but everything sounded choppy and rushed; shameful.

Jasper Whitlock recomposed himself in about half a second. "Actually, I did _not_ get enough sleep last night. How considerate of you for noticing," he replied quickly and smoothly.

"Umm…." A familiar wave of tranquility washed over me. Now it was _my_ turn to recompose myself, but I was _not_ going to let my guard down again.

"Yes…Anytime….just….Make sure to get enough rest tonight," I finally replied awkwardly. What a weird conversation, though. An "insane" inmate telling her Attendant to get enough rest? Did he turn everything upside-down?

"Of course, Alice," he grinned. It almost looked like he was trying to suppress a chuckle or two. Great. Instead of grimacing or lecturing me about respect or minding my own business, he was amused. Yes, he _did_ turn everything upside-down.

I picked up my bowl and spoon again and tasted it. I grimaced. I had been hoping that the cook might have slipped sugar in—he did sometimes, although this happened less often than not. Usually I can always tell ahead if my breakfast would be sweet but who knew anymore? If I'd missed Whitlock's entrance, what else had I missed? I was starting to lose confidence in my visions.

I looked up, wondering why the strange aura hadn't lifted yet, only find that, all this while, Whitlock had been silently leaning against the wall, watching me. Wasn't he supposed to deliver the food and leave? He _was_ a newbie, though. Perhaps he thought he had to wait until I was finished.

"You don't have to stay, you know. The old Attendant—his assistants always left right after they'd delivered my meals and came back later to collect the dishes."

"Is that how you would prefer it?"

I blinked. What? _My_ preference? Was he toying with me? First, he acts like a kind, gentleman-type of Attendant before scaring me half to death. Then he make up for it by treating me like a human being. I was starting to get a sense of déjà vu—not something that I should have been unfamiliar with.

"Why?!" I demanded. Surprise flitted across his face again. "Does it really matter? You don't really care at all, so why?! Just stop pretending already!! I am a human being with feelings, too!" Geeze. If he had any doubt that I was insane, I was sure that my little rant had squashed it. I was practically yelling at him, too—not that he didn't deserve that part. Anyway, I wouldn't have to worry about Jasper Whitlock bothering me again. He would probably get an assistant to take care of anything having to do with patient 0360725 from now on. No _sane_ person would want to deal with any of this. Damn! I never realized how sensitive I was about this. I thought I had gotten over this a long time ago. How embarrassing. The most embarrassing part, however, was that I now felt the tears running down my face. Stupid. Uhg.

Note:

I'm prepared for a variety of different reactions concerning this chapter. This author's note however, is meant only to address a few of them. I understand that many of you will want to complain about Alice's character and how she's become pretty…negative. Yes, I agree that this does not seem very "Alice-like." Please keep in mind that she's been though eleven years without much of a social life, in almost complete isolation. All things considered, I think of her current state of mind as a miracle. Also, this is a "comfort/healing" fan-fiction. Naturally there is going to be a phase of healing. This is just the beginning of the transformation of Alice to the girl we all know and love in the Twilight series.

With all of this in mind, please give me your comments. Do you agree? Disagree? Maybe you'd prefer things a different way…? (I'll see what I can do, but I can't make any promises, here.) I apologize if this story has taken a turn for the worse in your opinion but I can't exactly drag things on forever. I'm sure it would eventually get boring for the reader…lol.

Thanks for reading this far into the series, anyway! I hope to cya next time!

Larry 3


	10. Chapter 9: Unbelievable

Chapter 9

There was a tiny breeze in the room, which was strange—the room had no windows. I looked up to see that Whitlock was gone. I was right; he didn't care—why should he? I had known, I really _had_, but somehow I felt three times worse having this fact affirmed.

Sure, Whitlock was creepy and unusual, but so was I—kind of…and to a much lesser extent—and he was _interesting_. He made one day different from the next—I knew I had only known him since yesterday morning but I could tell. Most importantly, though, he was human; a person; a social interaction.

I was really starting to convince myself that I really was going insane. Was I bipolar or something? I should have been feeling relieved that this guy would finally be out of my face. Besides, if I was so upset, than why didn't I just shut-up and play along to begin with? I wished I had seen this coming. It was miserable knowing that it was my fault. I should have seen this ahead of time! Maybe my visions were just bogus after-all…

On top of all this, I was mad at myself for being so pessimistic—which may have been slightly unreasonable under these circumstances, but being positive was the only way to survive. There was just a lot to be upset about.

I promised myself that I was going to stop crying before half a minute was up. Then, I would get over it—over everything—and life would—groan—go back to normal. I sniffed and was about to wipe my face dry—as much as I hated to admit—with my _sleeve_, when someone cleared his throat.

_He _was leaning over me—somehow, I had sub-consciously slumped down against the wall—and was holing out a small, white square of fabric. I gaped at him with my arm still poised to wipe my tears away. He shook the handkerchief in front of me, waiting for me to take it.

Had I been given a second chance? I didn't quite understand. Was Jasper Whitlock, my new Attendant, _really _in front of me? Did I just imagine that he had left? _Why? _Why would he still be here? Why would he come back if he had left? It was official: nothing made sense anymore.

I gingerly reached my hand out and took the handkerchief. I wiped the embarrassing tear stains off of my face, watching for any emotion he might have given away that would help me understand the situation.

He leaned away from me as soon as I'd taken what he'd given me. He backed up all the way to the other side of the room, so that he was in the exact spot and position—leaning against the wall—that he was in before my rant. His face was confused, but apologetic.

This was very off. Whitlock shouldn't have been sorry—well, he _should_ have been sorry but he didn't know that. He certainly couldn't understand me enough to know why….not unless…

Had this just been a huge misunderstanding? Could he have actually been sincere? Could I have been _wrong_? Could _I_, Mary Alice Brandon, have been mistaken? The possibility would imply something very improbable—that one person would be able to look past the social stigma that came with being "insane." But if anyone could, it would be this most unusual albino in front of me. He had probably dealt with prejudices of his own. He did seem, after all, also very unusual… All the same, I deemed his sincerity to very unlikely, but I filed this thought away anyway. I wasn't sure if I wanted this hope as it could very easily be a false one.

Something else was off: for once, Whitlock didn't wait for me to say something before speaking.

"Miss Alice…I apologize for offending you, although I don't know what I did wrong. I guess I must be the last person you want to see at the moment and if you truly don't want me here I'll leave, but I couldn't let a lady be miserable by herself…especially if I was at fault."

My jaw must have hit the floor. WHAT?! I tried to form a coherent question in my head but it was all in a mess. I had never had such difficulty composing myself. Ohhhhh the irony…

Miss? _Lady_? Now I was a lady? He _did_ give me a handkerchief… And then there was the fact that the most arrogant person I ever had any hope of meeting _apologized_ and _humbled_ himself to me of all people. Above all thing, the most shocking thing was that he was _sorry_. _Whitlock_ was sorry. Why?! _**Nothing made any sense anymore!! **_

I slumped down again and something clattered by my foot. My breakfast lay there barely touched. I nudged it away with my foot. How could I still have an appetite after this? I had an enormous migraine. I doubted that a recently treated patient from the lobotomy Ward could have a more frustrating headache.

Maybe Jasper Whitlock was a mind reader or maybe he just paid more attention to the bowl when it clattered. All the same he asked, "You're not hungry?"

I shook my head and reached down to pick up the soggy grits before handing the mess over to him.

"What's wrong? I know it can't taste very good…" He paused and then continued, "…but, I have seen how much 'they' feed you. That cannot—"

I waved his concerns away with my hand. He _did_ seem sincere, which didn't really make sense but I wasn't going to look a gift-horse in the mouth any longer. I had to accept it; a miracle had occurred and the inmates of Warden 36 had someone who actually cared to look after them. Well…at least I did.

"Thank you, Mr. Whitlock," I said, giving him a little smile for perhaps the first time.

A dark look crossed his face for the briefest portion of a second—the cycle was starting again!!—then disappeared, replaced by a slightly sad and guilty look.

"You really shouldn't have to thank me for anything," he said.

Whitlock turned for the door, but stopped and turned back to face me as if something had just occurred to him.

"You can just call me Jasper if you like."

Jasper. It definitely had possibilities and it wasn't a bad name; I'd just have to get used to it. I did like it, though—the concept that is. (He'd already told me his full name before, hadn't he? So it wasn't new information.) Calling Whitlock by first name would seem more familiar than calling him by surname.

"Sure, Jasper," I smiled again.

His mouth turned up slightly, too. "Until we meet again."

He gave me a small salute—kind of like he would be touching the brim of a hat—and left,

--

Note:

Hiya, people

….Yeah…please have mercy. I didn't intend for chapter 9 to take so long but I've gotten in over my head at school with my extra curricular activities and honors courses so…if you want the whole spiel, please check my profile.

P.S.-I've got a new Twilight poll up. Please vote! I'll release the results later if I get enough votes.


	11. Chapter 10: The Positives

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

My mind went sort of blank after that. There were too many questions and too much to think about that my mind's defenses went up. This blankness, unfortunately, lasted all of about two seconds. There were so many things I'd forgotten about: he first came during what others would call an "episode," hadn't he? So….what was that about? And then how he had reacted a little strangely after I'd simply asked about his sleep. How _had _I forgotten about these things anyway? I must've had some kind of attention disorder. There _was_ just too much to think about, though—so much in fact, that I remembered my headache.

As the headache built up, I felt like a wall that had been previously holding back my emotion was starting to crumble. Shock, embarrassment, shame, and joy….it all started to overwhelm me and made me even more confused and just ever so slightly hyper.

I squeeze my eyes shut and started rubbing my temples. What now? I didn't necessarily want to worry about Whi—Jasper all day. It was a waste of energy—although not a waste of time; there was definitely an overabundance of that. Even so, focusing on something else would be better for my exploding head.

The best thing to concentrate on would probably be the positives in my life.

I had a friend. Kind of.

My friend cared about me.

I would probably see him often.

I was alive and in one of the nicer…rooms.

I didn't think I was going to get a stupid lobotomy job done anytime soon.

With that also came the continued absence of any shock treatments.

I had a spare uniform.

The list I was forming in my head seemed to be growing sadder and sadder. Although the last four were things to be thankful for, they were more ordinary. I felt greedy thinking that this, but was there anything else to focus on? I suddenly remembered the vision I'd had this morning and added that to my list:

This Wednesday, of all days, would be a sunny day.

I was truly spoiled: not did I have a friend but, I also had something definite to look forward to.

It had probably been about five days since last Wednesday when I had gone out for a walk. So I had to wait one day more? That would be the day after tomorrow.

My mood had lifted already. I would have to remember this method of calming down and use it again whenever possible. I continued:

My old attendant was gone.

I was healthy.

I was now happier and calmer.

That would be good enough for now. Now that I was drained of the majority of my worries, I was starting to feel tired, again. I hadn't had a very good night's sleep, come to think of it. I decided I would just take a little nap. It wasn't like there was anything better to do.

--

Note:

Okay, so this was a filler chapter…so sue me. I'm not the best when it comes to these, I you'll just have to forgive me (honestly, that's why it took so long to write this.) I could cut the fillers out, but they show the passage of time and if I just cut them out…wouldn't the fanfic seem a bit rushed? I love your comments as always so fell free to bitch and complain about how slow and disappointing this chapter was because for the time it took to write it, it was SO short and had zero content. (I'm not being sarcastic. Complain to me. I want to hear what I can improve on.) So Cya soon, people!! (I hope .)

Larry


	12. Chapter 11: Familiar Face

Chapter 11

I eventually awoke from my nap feeling somewhat well rested and continued my day with my usual routine. I stretched for a few minutes and settled into the meditation-like pose I used only for my visions. I usually searched for important matters—things that would affect the country or simply Mary Alice Brandon—or entertainment. I preferred songs or radio shows, but I'd also get a glimpse of an occasional game broadcasted from nearby.

I didn't really See anything especially noteworthy today, though except for part of a pre-All Hallow's Eve special:

_**~0 0 0 0~**_

_An assistant on the night crew in the asylum was taking a—probably unauthorized—break and was listening to a radio in the staff rec. room. It wasn't a large room, but at least it had a few windows. It was dark outside, though, so I couldn't see the sun anyway. A bell on the show chimed once…twice…………ten times, signifying the hour. Suddenly, an enthusiastic male announcer's voice came through the speaker. _

"_Hey all of you folks out there! You're listening to Dennis'n'Dan!" _

_At this point, a catchy jingle started playing before Dennis or Dan—I had no idea as to who was the one speaking—continued._

"_All right folks, to celebrate the arrival of October and to anticipate the coming of All Hallow's Eve, we've got something very special in store for you, tonight. Why don't you tell 'em what it is Dan?" Dennis—apparently—said._

"_I'd love to Dennis!" Dan said a little too enthusiastically. "Starting this week, we are going to hold a—" and here music played on the air followed by a high-pitched scream—"Haunt Hour!"_

"_Forgive me, Dan, but you help me tell the folks back home what exactly is 'Haunt Hour'?"_

"_Of course, Dennis! For the rest of October, we'll be airing a new series of scary stories from 10:30 to 11:30 every night."_

"_What do you mean, Dan?"_

"_Simply that we'll be hosting a different type of radio theatre each night in the spirit of the holidays. You know, Dennis, suspense stories. Thrills! Chills! For example, tonight's segment is a ghost story called 'Highway 11.' Speaking of which, we have a special guest on the show tonight, don't we, Dennis?"_

"_Yes, we do, Dan. Folks, it's my pleasure to introduce to you, famous voice-actress, Veronica Marshal!"_

_An applause sound track played over the radio in the dark room. The man sitting in the chair, I realized, must have been sleeping because he groaned and rolled over. . . . . . .onto the floor. This promptly woke him up. He slapped his hand over his face and started rubbing his eyes as the radio show hosts continued with their rambling._

"_Thank you, boys, you're both just too kind," said a woman—presumably Veronica Marshal._

"_Not at all! Anyway, Miss Marshal, I hear that you've done some work in the segment we're featuring tonight."_

_The slacking assistant had picked himself up off of the floor and was checking the time on his wrist-watch. He started cursing and ran out of the door, slamming it on his way out. _

What made the vision interesting was not the first part, though—it was what happened next. I had been expecting to See the rest of the segment on the radio. Instead, the vision followed the careless employee. It could have just been that my visions had to follow someone, but I had to pay attention regardless. It wasn't worth my energy to tear away from the scene.

_The assistant turned into the dimly lit hallway and started sprinting down the hallway, right into Ward 36. He slowed down to a jog, but kept going passed the cells in the ward. I noticed mine with number __0360725 printed on the door __as he jogged by it without giving it even a passing glance. He ran another minute down the dim hallway before stopping abruptly and adjusting his uniform into a tidier and more professional state before continuing down the hallway, walking this time—but quickly._

_He stopped outside of a room marked 0361019, took a deep breath and put his hand on the doorknob. He grimaced, but placed a sympathetic expression on his face and opened the door._

_The room it revealed would have looked exactly like mine except it held more. There were a couple of extra blankets covering the inmate sleeping on the bed as well as a nail on the wall with a large coat hanging off of it. In terms of furniture the room also held a shabby little chair sitting next to a stool. The stool evidently had served as a makeshift table for patient 0361019, for it had the remains of an evening meal on top of it and an extra lantern. To anyone else, the room wouldn't really hold any significance, but it was easy for me to see that for whatever reason, this inmate was getting some extremely special treatment. Could this be because of Whitlock? Was I really not a favorite after all? _

_The assistant poked his head into the room. _

_"Mister Grant," he whispered, "you asleep, sir?"_

_The figure on the mattress stirred and sat up, looking extremely irritated. He looked familiar, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen him. Surely I should have been able to recall someone who was so obviously an Attendant's pet._

_"Dammit, Charles. What the hell took you so long?!" Grant snapped before taking in the look on his assistant's guilt-ridden face._

_"Okay, look," the kid sighed, "No harm, no foul. I was just scared that my evil step-hag finally got to you. So. . .what's the news? Exactly how 'insane' am I?"_

_The assistant, Charles, stared at his shoes—which weren't much to look at by the way—but reached into his uniform pocket and drew out a neatly folded piece of paper and trudged towards the boy who hesitantly took the document and handed him a few bills—which explained the "favoratism"—why was I relieved about this? I was pleasantly surprised by the detail of my visions when he unfolded the page and I could clearly read its contents: _

_[PATIENT PROFILE]_

_NAME: GRANT O'DONALD_

_GENDER: MALE_

_AGE: 15_

_ETHNICITY: -----------_

_NUMBER: 0361019_

_DISCRIPTION: _

_SANDY BLOND HAIR. BROWN EYES. SHORT. _

_CONDITION: PARANOIA, DISOBEDIENCE, SEVERE REBELLIOUSNESS, MILD _

_HALLUCINATIONS, DIAGNOSED AS BIPOLAR._

_CONTACTS: MRS. NICHOL O'GRANT-WINTERS_

_EXTRA NOTES: DO NOT ADD CONTANT INFORMATION UNLESS INSTRUCTED BY MRS. _

_O'GRANT-WINTERS. ONLY CONTACT BY TELEPHONE. ANY INSTRUCTIONS REGARDING PATIENT ARE TO BE SENT THROUGHT CONTACT(S). _

_[PATIENT PROFILE/END]_

_Grant studied the page, grimacing at times and at others, mumbling something under his breath. Finally he folded the page and set it down on a crate serving as a bed-side table._

_"Well, it could be worse, I suppose. . ." he sighed as he looked back up at his assistant. "Thank you, Charles. Now, our next move will probably be to—" _

_"Mr. Grant. Umm. . .actually. . .there's something I wish to discuss with you. . ." The assistant pause and the boy's face visibly drained of all of its color. The assitant continued, "You see, I. . .What I mean is. . .well. . ." He awkwardly cleared his throat before getting it all out in a rush, "It-is-my-regret-to-inform-you-that-I-am-to-be-working-at-this-facility-no-longer." He took a deep breath and said more slowly, more quietly, "I apologize, Mr. Grant. I have decided to quit for. . .personal reasons."_

_"Do these 'personal reasons' have anything to do with that _bitch_?!" Grant spat out that last word as if it were poisen in his mouth. _

_"Sir, I—"_

_"Look, I don't care anymore. Just leave." He was trembling, but he kept his voice low and controlled._

_"Shall I take these," the assistant indicated towards the forgotten, dirty, dinner tray, "before—?" _

"_GET OUT!" Grant thundered, his voice cracking at the last second—sort of ruining the effect in my opinion._

_The assistant bolted, slamming the door behind him as the poor kid broke down and hid his face in his hands only to raise his head a moment later, face wet and fling the dinner tray and all of its contents across the room with a satisfying crash. He took a few deep breaths and then collapsed onto his mattress, utterly exhausted. _

_Grant closed his eyes tightly before trying to relax. It was only then, with his face looking more serene than it had throughout the rest of the vision that I recalled the seemingly unimportant scene I'd witnessed earlier. I had never seen Grant O'Donald before, but I had Seen him. _

_**~0 0 0 0~**_

The vision ended, but I honestly didn't see the significance in it. He was just another patient, right? One with some unusual and unfortunate circumstances—and sure, I _did_ feel sorry for him—but he was just another patient among hundreds.

I blinked a few times and took a deep breath preparing for the next vision, but the smell of food stopped me. On the crate next to my bed was a stew, white bread and a rare treat—pudding. My first reaction was that I was actually hallucinating. I'd only received pudding once before—on my first birthday in this place, as per request by my family apparently. Whatever the reason for it being here now, I was thankful. As I started eating, though, I realized that the last vision had been unusually long and someone had seen me in my trance while delivering my meal. I thought of this morning and knew who it probably was—Jasper.

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*Note:

Yes, it has been about two months since I last updated and I'm also disappointed in myself about this (you are not the only one). Please forgive me! I made this chapter twice as long, if that's any consolation. Something sort of funny: I started writing this chapter the day after holloween and only continued it starting the day after Thanksgiving. Okay, that's sad, not funny….

I realized that this chapter will be very disappointing because it introduces an OC as more than just a background character. . .and it doesn't have Jasper in it. . . Jasper is still in the story, though, so don't give up on my please. (I'll stop now.)

Grant will not equal Jacob either. Just had to say it in case people think that there will be some chemistry Grant and Alice. Okay.

Until Next time!!!!!

~Larry the Cucumber :( sorry.


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